Whereas Verdi set his "Rigoletto" in the licentious court of the Duke of Mantua in the 16th century, the team for the Metropolitan Opera's new production, unveiled in late January, has placed the tragedy in Las Vegas in the 1960s. It's not a huge stretch to see the similarities: the mob, the Rat Pack, lotta money, lotta booze, cheap women and glitzy entertainment ... familiar turf for an American audience. Cool idea. We can relate.

The question is, however, does changing time and space allow for insightful nuances of character and story that are otherwise unavailable to the director of a more traditional production? With some qualifications, the answer here appears to be yes.

A few fumbles aside, Michael Mayer's conception scores a touchdown. The Duke, robustly sung by tenor Piotr Beczala, is a pretty party boy with a band of nicely dressed thugs who hang around his neon lit casino. He sings "Questa o quella" like a Vegas number, mike in hand, surrounded by a small bevy of chorus girls with brightly colored feathers. Of course, he chases women. We even spot one looking like Marilyn Monroe. The casino buzzes with the energy of Verdi's music in the first scene.

Rigoletto , too, gets the mike, albeit briefly, as if he's the stand-up comic. But his shabby dress and old coat suggest that he is not really a part of the "scene." He has a soul, for one thing; he's clearly not a high roller, and he has a secret: Gilda, his daughter, his only joy and reason for living. He has safely hidden her from the grasp of the evil world around him. Well, so far at least.

Rigoletto, one of the plum roles for a baritone, is sung by Zeljko Lucic. Ample in volume and range, and therefore a powerful vocal presence, Lucic seems variable in his dramatic focus; his anguish at Gilda's death is heartbreakingly sincere and his mockery of Monterone's grief is cruel, but he appears at first underwhelmed at the latter's curse and his desperation to find Gilda in Act 2 ("Cortigiani"), so angry and gut wrenching in the music, is on the whole rather flat.

Soprano Diana Damrau, a pro at girlish and cute, is vocally winning as the innocent Gilda. This one would expect, but she adds some teeth to the role as the evening progresses. I think hiding her body in the trunk of the Caddy is better than dumping her in the river.

Sparafucile, a hit man with a proper amount of menace, is sumptuously sung by Stefan Kocan; Giovanna, Gilda's nurse, is taken by Maria Zifchak. Both in their Met debuts, Robert Pomakov and Oksana Volkova sing Monterone and Maddalena, respectively. The many courtiers are uniformly well handled.

Very impressive is Michele Mariotti at the helm of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. He seems to tap just the right rhythm and phrasing for Verdi's familiar score, giving the tale a sense of inevitability as it unfolds.

Set designer Christine Jones, costume designer Susan Hilfery and lighting designer Kevin Adams, who all, along with Mayer, make their Met debuts, score more points with the interior of the Duke's casino (Act 1, scene 1, and Act 2) than with the other locations of the drama. Sometimes they stretch for it. Here, Rigoletto doesn't live in a remote alley, but rather in a hotel room, which we know only because he takes an elevator. And on his way home one night he meets Sparafucile in a bar. Rigoletto delivers his "Pari siamo," his ruminations about his place in the world, as a late night confession to the bartender.

We get no sense of Gilda's claustrophobic confinement because the large casino set is still in the background, merely darkened and separated by an oversized faux-modern room divider composed of huge open circles. Sparafucile's hut is a strip joint with no walls.

For me a fumble occurs when a directorial choice unintentionally gets a laugh at a time when the opera is intended to be dead serious. After all, there are three murders in this one. Monterone's daughter is violated by the Duke (not shown), but it isn't necessary that Monterone be a sheik: His killjoy entrance in Scene 1 got a big laugh instead. And chuckles rippled through the otherwise silent audience at odd times, apparently because the English translation of the Italian text was updated to include some '60s phrases. Hip, yes, but an unnecessary detail that derails our focus from what's happening.

Verdi's "Rigoletto" is performed again on the Met stage on the evenings of Feb. 12, 19, 23 and a matinee on Feb. 16, then with a change of cast on the evenings of April 13, 16, 20, 24, 27, and May 1. Tickets are available at www.metopera.org or call 212-362-6000. The Feb. 16 matinee performance will be telecast live in High Definition at the Quick Center in Fairfield at 1 p.m., with an encore at 6 p.m. The Ridgefield Playhouse has two HD encores at 1 p.m. and 6 p.m. on Sunday, Feb. 17. Tickets for these venues may be purchased at their websites or via links through the Met's website.

Jerry Sehulster is a freelance writer who lives in Stamford. He can be reached at jsehulster@att.net.